


Accidental Saviour

by quicksylver28



Series: A Lion and Two Snakes walk into a bar and save the bloody World [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Character Death, Gen, Humour, M/M, Rough Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:17:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksylver28/pseuds/quicksylver28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rough Trade Boot Camp Challenge 2014 - Harry Potter</p><p>Old Voldie is dead. For real this time and when the dust clears the saviours of the wizarding world are ... Hermione Granger, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle ?</p><p>Now with the war suddenly over, we follow our intrepid heroes as they deal with the totally ungrateful population, the vicious Media, the doubtful Wizengamot, the offended Weasleys, a manipulative Dumbledore, and one Harry Potter, the boy who lived, who frankly is feeling kind of jipped really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a sequel to this story but i can't seem to get the series to accept it. oh well. here is the link- http://archiveofourown.org/works/4585425/chapters/10444536

warnings: violence mentioned.

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/Ziela_Hime/media/10423660_767676966586106_8029384106602652171_n_zpshoh8klyi.jpg.html)

The world ended and began.

It was all she could do to hold on and not lose herself as magic screamed and screamed and screamed in pain; rippling out in waves of gale force winds that pelted her with debris and lashed at her clothes and skin, whipping her hair wildly about her face and into her eyes. The roar of it was deafening and seemed to resonate through her whole body until her bones ached and her skull felt like it would shatter from the pressure.

Heavy magic pushed the air right out of her chest with the force of a bludger and she gasped for breath, struggling to take in oxygen.

She screamed and sobbed, the sound of her voice lost against the roar of the maelstrom as magic flailed wildly from the centre of the room, large tendrils of energy slashing deep gouges into the stone walls. Sometimes the tendrils would flail toward her, whipping right through her body and burning across her magical core, scorching along her nerve endings.

Another whip cord glanced and sizzled across her back and she arched up, her eyes snapping open at the pain. She turned her stinging eyes away from the pulsing nexus in the middle of the room and chanced a look around.

The ceiling was coming away, the raw force of magic eroding and burning the very stone of the building. Already she could see patches of night sky where the building had just disintegrated.  
Movement caught her eye. There. She hunched lower against the cracking pillar she’d anchored herself to. There was someone else there. Wide frightened eyes peered back at her.

Crabbe. Her mind supplied. His white school shirt stained red with blood, his face pale and frightened. A green jumper clad arm slung around his chest kept him huddled against the pitiful shelter of the only other surviving pillar. Slytherin Green. Goyle.

They both looked as terrified as she felt and a pang of irritation forced its way up through her terror. Served them right for getting us all into this mess. Bloody Gits.

Magic gave another giant heave and the sound of cracking stone drew her gaze to the centre of the room. A white hot blaze of fire rose to lick at the vaulted ceiling, the oppressive heat coming from it made the air crackle and burn with every breath.

At the very heart of the inferno she could just make out the image of a man, no a monster, being consumed by the very magic he sought to control. She could see the shadows of his black soul twisting and flailing as they burned to ash.

Soon only bones lay within the blaze, crackling and hissing as they glowed then blackened, crumbling into dust which the fire consumes. If she squinted she could just see the obscene runes he’d carved into his very bones glow them dim forever.

The fire flared outward and she buried her head in her arms again. With nothing left to consume, magic reached for them and she braced herself, sure that death was mere moments away. The pressure grew, flattening her against the cracked stone floor, more and more until it seemed that she would be crushed, her final scream stolen from her lips.

Just when the roaring wind and pressure ceased, leaving behind such an utter silence that it was like a physical thing, solid and heady to the point where she was almost drunk with it.

She could hear a faint keening, as if from a distance. It was only when she turned over to lay on her back that she realized that the sound was coming from her own mouth.

She clasped her hands over her face to muffle the sound because for the life of her she couldn’t stop the harsh sobbing. She felt raw and turned inside out, every muscle weak with exhaustion.  
A scrabbling sound broke her from her malaise and she turned her head to see Goyle trying to shuffle Crabbe’s unconscious from behind the now mostly demolished pillar.

In fact most of the stone room was gone, destroyed by the chaotic magic. Only the cracked floor stones and the base of the walls and pillars were left.

Goyls was searching the rubble now, picking though and gingerly tossing aside bits of detritus and glass from the potions bottles they’d been sorting just minutes before. He picked up what was left of a wand, blackened from the heat and petrified from the magic being sucked right out of it.

It crumbled to dust in his hand and he cursed. She chuckled mirthlessly and he turned towards her.

“Still alive there Granger” he rasped, his voice gravelly from the chokehold he’d been held in not half hour ago. She could still see the imprints of Riddle’s skeletal hands on the pale skin of his neck.

She nodded and pushed herself unto her elbows.

“Not for lack of trying on your part, bloody git”

She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. Too much screaming from the crucios and what not, her mind supplied numbly.

Goyle shrugged and went back to searching through the debris and she gingerly pulled herself to lean on the cracked stump of her own broken pillar.

The pop of apparition made the both freeze. Someone had come. Another pop had them looking at each other, an unspoken agreement passed between them.

The riotous magic may have destroyed everything magical within the immediate area but they’d be damned if they didn’t defend themselves by any other means.

Goyle grabbed one of the larger shards of glass he could find and she a good sized rock. One last wave of adrenaline got her to her feet and they stood together over Crabbe’s still form.

A few more pops now, voices getting closer. She tightened the grip on her rock, there was no place for them to hide and if they ran they would have to leave Crabbe behind to face his fate alone and the look on Goyle’s face told her that he was not budging from this spot.

She briefly contemplated leaving them both as they were the ones who’d gotten her into this cluster fuck but they were also the reason she was still alive so she owed them.

The voices were closer and she calculated their odds if the newcomers were death eaters, the ministry or Dumbledore’s old crowd. None of the choices were ideal the boy-who-lived’s girl wonder and two death eaters in training so she readjusted her grip on her rock again and ran over her mental notes on wandless apparition and port key making as the voices grew even nearer.

“Halt” came a voice from the darkness.

A tall cloaked figure stepped forward, his wand trained on them. Two other hooded figures stepped from the shadows and one of them muttered a lumos.

Goyle’s glass shard flashed in the pale light and she chose her first target. If she could know out the one with the lit wand, they could use the few seconds’ distraction to flee. She was fairly sure she could side-along apparate them both straight to St. Mungo’s just in case they splinched themselves. And for Crabbe of course.

“Halt I say,” the fist wizard repeated, “Auror Divison. What are you…. Wait a minute… Hermione? Hermione Granger is that you?”

He whipped off his hood and she sagged in relief.

“Kingsley” she rasped, dropping the rock.

She put a hand on Goyle’s arm, feeling him tense under her palm.

“We’ve been looking for you ever since Ron and Harry reappeared in Hogsmeade”

“They’re safe then?” relief in her voice. “I knew that would work”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing as he took in Goyle and his shard of glass.

“They said that two Slytherin Boys had tricked you three into grabbing a port key. What’s this all about then?”

Muscled bunched under her hand.

“They saved my life” she spoke into the night air, squeezing Goyle’s arm as he gave her an unreadable look, reluctantly dropping the shard.

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow at her.

More Aurors appeared out of the darkness, wands trained on the Slytherin boys.

“They aren’t Death Eaters” she blurted, unable to stop herself. “Voldemort’s dead. He was going to kill me and they saved my life. He even tried to kill them.”

She pushed up the sleeve of Goyle’s green jumper to reveal smooth unblemished skin. She had to make the Aurors understand. She owed it to Crabbe and Goyle.

“You see...No dark mark , they aren’t Death Eaters.”

“I know” came Kingsley’s calm reply.

“They… I … Wait. What?” she stuttered to a halt.

Goyle swallowed painfully “How?” his voice worsening.

Kingsley dropped his wand arm and tucked it into his holster though they noted that the other Aurors kept their wands trained at the teens.

“I know you’re not a Death Eater because twenty minutes ago, every person that had the dark mark tattooed on their skin dropped dead in their tracks.”

“Oh” she squeaked.

She let her legs fold under her and sank to the ground, her hand still clutching Goyle’s jumper sleeve as he let out a noise of disbelief.

“Oh” she repeated. “I think i need to sit now ”

And with that, Hermione Granger, smartest witch of her age and best friend of harry Potter, well read, verbose and fluent in four languages including Klingon, had nothing more to say.


	2. Chapter 2

shell–shocked

adjective

 

: affected with battle fatigue  
: very confused, upset, or exhausted because of something that has happened : very shocked

 

She knew the term, the dictionary definition, she knew how to spell it and conjugate it in a sentence with past, present and even future past perfect tenses. What she couldn’t do was apply it to what she was feeling.

She’d seen it in her cousin sometimes when they’d visited her father’s sister in Kent three years ago. It had hung off his frame like tattered dirty cobwebs and the way he walked across his old bedroom as if walking across a minefield.

It was a look she’d sometimes see in Harry’s eyes late at night in the common room after Ron dozed off among the pillows and open potions books.

Harry would rake through the embers of the dying fire with the poker, the logs snapping and hissing as they crumbled. Sometimes he would hiss back, parsletongue making his sibilant ‘s’ tumble down her spine like a cold breath at her neck.

She was never really sure whether he was doing it consciously or not and she never asked but her heart would always break a little to see the dead look in his usually vibrant green eyes.  
Her head felt wrapped in cotton, her eyes gritty from the ash still in the air and the salt of her tears. Her skin felt pulled tight across her face and body and every movement had her body aching dully.

Voices seemed to drift in and out of hearing and a constant ringing surged and ebbed from one ear to the next. She felt like twelve miles of bad road and she was sure that she looked it.  
The on-site healer’s first diagnostic charm had made her double over with a pained gasp, only Goyle’s quick grip on her arm kept her from face planting. The diagnosis was grim: Magical Over Exposure

According to her copy of Medicinae Artem Notoriam Comendium , it was first discovered by Brixby Mintumble in 1785, great uncle of the unfortunate time travller, Eloise Mintumble, and was the result of person’s magical core being exposed to a massive amount of magic in a short period of time.

Subsequent exposure to magic and magical items caused distress and varying levels of discomfort to the witch or wizard until the magical core recovered. That meant no apparition or portkey back to London.

The Healer then hustled them away from ground zero to sit upon the grass on the adjacent hill as more wizards apparated in, each pop giving off a small burst of magic that seemed to scrape across Hermione’s senses like a rusty blade.

Goyle sat beside her, as disheveled and skittish as she was with their not too subtle Auror Guards milling in and out of awareness just beyond the corner of the eye. He was playing with the grass absently, his eyes glued to where the healer was stabilizing Crabbe’s wounds for transport by Ministry car.

The grass beneath them lay flat against the ground, as if pressed in sweeping arcs away from the site by some heavy object. It had rained earlier in the day but the ground was dry and hard and the grass brittle and singed beneath her fingertips.

She flinched as purples and reds flashed across the night, giving fleeting glances of the burnt stone shell of the building in which she’d spent the last hellish day.

Her mind absently catalogued the spells she saw by colour, wand movement and the faint murmur of spell casting on the wind- relevato, inveni, revelo mortis, oh, that gold one was new -tenebris quaraera, cast by an Unspeakable with their shadow spelled hood. She tucked that one away in her mental trunk along with the deep blue of ater magicae revelare for later research.  
The arrival of the Unspeakables also signaled the arrival of the Ministry Car and soon they were all bundled in and lifting off from the site.

The inherent magic of the flying car buzzed through her like an angry bumble bee but it was too far to London by muggle means so she bit the inside of her cheek and bore it.

She pressed her flushed skin against the cool glass of the car window and watched the passing sky with a sense of detachment as she left behind a piece of herself in that fresh hell along with riddles scattered ashes.

 

 

:( ugh


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Thirty tooth grinding minutes later they were touching down at the 'squib' hospital. Santa Briguita’s Centro Médico Para La Mágicamente Adyacente was the largest hospital outside of St Mungo’s for the magical in Britain and catered mainly to the squib population. or as the politically correct would say "Magically Adjacent"

Hermione scoffed. Magically adjacent Riddle's scaly bollocks. It was just another way to rub it in squibs faces that they could be near to magic but not part of it. The Hospital was often looked down upon by the wizarding world because of its seemless blend of muggle and magical medicine and excellent residency programme. It also had the best magical isolation suite in western Europe.

Built as a legacy to the late Idris Oakby, founder of the Society for the Support of Squibs, Santa Briguita’s was the brain child of her niece by marriage and Executor of her estate, Duquesa Fronhilde Tegrida Ederono del Arias. Seven stories of steel and glass that boasted modern elevators, a state of the art surgery suite, a helipad and enough goblin runes cast into the foundation to withstand a category five hurricane.

It was a sight to behold in sunlight from the air but it was lost to Hermione as she all but flung herself from the car as it touched down on the rooftop helipad. The ground was smooth and solid beneath her as she fought of the nausea that had been pushing at the back of her throat for the last minutes of the ride.

She clenched her teeth together painfully, breathing deeply through her nose, trying to quell her roiling gut. She could see Goyle’s feet as her stumbled from the car and fell to his knees, breathing harshly and the feet of medics as they rushed to unload Crabbe’s stretcher.

Bells clanged gustily in her head as warm hands clutched at her shoulders. The world began to spin and she could only mutter a low, ‘beg your pardon’ before she threw up everything that wasn’t nailed down inside her body and passed out.

\------------------------------

She rose to wakefulness in stages, her mouth tasting like dead cat. Slowly she registered the plain room with tasteful walls and furniture, soothing, pastural artwork that didn’t move and the sun shining merrily though the window.

She ran a hand lazy through her hair, gingerly pushing herself upright. It hung in loose waves that she could never achieve magically and she bogled. It was also clean and soft and smelled like bananas.

“This shit is bananas… bee ay en ay en ay ess.” She sang softly and chuckled.  
There was a pitcher of water on the bedside table so she carefully poured herself a glass and drank it down. Then she poured herself two more. Sweet Merlin that was good.

A minute later, her bladder made her look for a bathroom. Aha, there.

She threw off the sheets, stepping off the bed only to find herself on the floor with an ‘oof.’  
“Owww” she groaned, her legs like jelly.

“Still alive there Granger?”

She looked up, Goyle stood at the door to her room, dressed in the same scrub top and pants that she wore. His face had regained some of its colour but he was still a bit pale with dark circles under her eyes.

It seemed his fatigue didn’t stop him from smirking like an utter tosser. She felt a strong sense of deja vu as she snarkily rejoined.

“Not for lack of trying on your part, bloody git”

His smirk deepened as he came to her side, helping her to the bathroom where she closed the door right in his smug face.

The phosphorescent bathroom light pulled no punches in showing every shadow and crease in her face. She looked haggard, like death warmed over and felt that way too.

The bone deep ache she’d felt before had dulled to a constant thrum of discomfort. But she was clean, scrubbed fresh and smelling like soap, she ran her hands through her hair again, marveling at how soft and manageable it was. She swirled a golden brown curl around a finger and brushed it along her lips with a smile.

The fittings were completely muggle and ultra modern stainless steel with automatic dispensers and hand dryer. As she made use of the toothbrush provided she wondered what the Slytherins had made of the whole non-magical set up.

It was her turn to smirk around the foamy brush, gormless nits.

She gingerly made her way through her room to a common area where Goyle was playing chess with pale but awake Crabbe. They were staring at the board with unhappy faces, as if now realizing that the pieces weren’t going to come to life and smash each other to bits.

She swallowed her laughter and eased herself into a nearby chair, mentally checking herself for symptoms precoursing the onset of Hysteria. The two slytherins murmured replies to her soft greeting and they sat for a while in silence.

She was making her way through the Huang Hu’s Treatise on Number Fracturing and how it was discussed in her copies of Numerology and Grammatica and The New Theory of Numerology and wiggling her toes in the plush wine coloured carpeting when Crabbe spoke up. He was looking straight at her.

“So that’s it then, he’s dead right?”

They all knew who ‘He’ was. Goyle was also looking at her, She’d been only one able to see what had been happening in those final moments.

She nodded solemnly. “yeh”

Crabbe slumped back against the cushions, wincing as he pulled on the healing wounds in his chest.

“Where are we then?, I thought I’d wake up in a ministry cell for sure. At least until me Da came for me. He must be raising holy hell by now to get me back home. Me Ma, not so much…”  
he shrugged.

“She was never one for emotions and the like. Was born of the Meliflua line, all mudblood hunters and puffskein poachers the lot of them. She’d na be aching for me to get back home, all but tosses me on the train each year with a box to the ears and hex to the backside.”

Hermione shared an alarmed look with Goyle. This was the most words she’d ever heard Crabbe say in one sitting. Ever. She pinched her face at the mudblood comment but let it go because the poor boy was obviously drugged to the gills.

“Vince…” Goyle hesitated, a deep frown on his face.

He placed the chess set aside carefully and took his friend's hand. Hermione wondered if she should look away because the moment was suddenly so intimate. Crabbe looked at their clasped hands and glanced at her briefly before looking back at Goyle.

“Vince… “ Goyle tried again, “Your Da won’t be coming for you this time. You see, the Aurors… they told us…. You see when the Dark Lord died… when he died he…”

He swallowed hard, putting a hand to his pained throat.

“…. When he went he took all the marked ones with him. They’re dead Vince, everyone with the mark dropped dead when he did.”

“All?” Crabbe’s voice broke, “… me Da?”

His face got this fragile and lost look that made Hermione’s eyes sting.

“He didn’t even want it” he whispered harshly, his face a mask of pain. “Ma made him get it when he married her. He loved her so much back then. So she’d dead too then, serves the bitch right. Fucking minger slag. All of them you say?”

Goyle nodded. “All. Lestrange, Dolohov, the Carrows, McNair, Greyback, fuck… Malfoy's Dad”

Fuck was right. she could just imagine that dreadful moment when all Voldemort’s marked dropped like flies all over wizarding Britain. In homes, in Azkaban, at the ministry, even at Hogwarts.

Holy Hell. Hogwarts. “Snape” she gasped.

“Shite” Goyle jerked to look at her.

Crabbe looked confused. “Wasn’t he a traitor?”

“It doesn’t matter. He was marked.” Goyle replied.

Hermione sat stunned at the realization. It didn’t matter after all what Severus Snape had done or not done in his life or for what reason. He’d been marked. Marked for death as all who followed down Riddle’s path had been.

“Besides, we’re traitors now too” Goyle continued. “We practically killed the monster who was supposed to be our master. We can’t talk shite of loyalty now.”

“Well, yeh, that’s different.” Crabbe shrugged. “He tried to kill you. I couldn't let him do that.”  
At that simple statement, Goyle got this look of fondness that softened his face as he gripped Crabbe’s hand a bit tighter. Her heart squeezed at the sight and she sighed softly.

There was a loud growl just then and they all started.

Both boys turned to look at her as one. Her face heated up as she slunk lower into the chair, her hands clasped over her hungry tummy.

As if on cue the door to the suite opened and they all cringed a little as the magic outside, weak as it was, washed over them. The couple who had slipped inside introduced themselves as Healers Thompson and Merrygold with Thompson being the smiling young blonde and Merrygold being a taciturn older gentleman with salt and pepper hair and beard.

The two of them tag teamed the three teens, checking their heartbeat, blood pressure and pain levels as well as deftly changing out Crabbes chest bandages. They bantered back and forth with Thompson calling the other doctor Merri and being addressed by the hated first name of Osbaldo in return.

They even calmed Crabbe when he caught sight of his stitches, What the hell is that, are you crazy, are you a healer or a seamstress?, how could you sew into my ches?t, Greg help me, they’ve sown into me chest mate. I’m like Frankenstien’s fecking monster, no no no no no , let me go you fecking brute.

Goyle had to wade into the mess to get Crabbe still enough for Thompson to stick him with a needle full of sedative. They all gave a sigh of relief when the teen finally turned over, snuggled the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

As they set about setting the room to rights, a nurse slipped in with a tray loaded with food, reminding her of how hungry she felt. Even the uncomfortable scrape of magic when the doctors left could not put a dent in her appetite.

The food was better than usual hospital fare by only so much but she dug in with gusto. They ate in silence for a while, soft snorts emitting from Crabbe’s pillow nest the only sounds.

Every once in a while she would see Goyle looking over at his classmate with that same soft gaze.

“You like him don’t you?” she asked softly.

His gaze was wary and sharp but she returned it unflinchingly.

“There’s no hidden agenda with you gryffs is there?” He huffed, smirking.

She raised an eyebow.

“Yeah, I’m gone on him.” He admitted, “been since we were ten and he took a hit from a bludger my knob head cousin sent for me. Got the pillock beat blue by my Father for injuring a guest of the family home. Broke Vince’s collar bone and he had to drink Skelegrow. He stayed at our house 'cause his Ma was a mean bitch even back then and didn’t want to take care of an invalid child. Best two weeks of my life. Had him all to myself”

He had a smile on his face, the most genuine smile she’d ever seen on him. She pushed back her plate and sat back with a satisfied sigh.

“Have you told him?” she wondered, “if I learned this much from yesterday is that life’s too short to wait.”

“He knows. He’s always known I guess. It’s just…”

Goyle drained his tea cup and shrugged.

“He just doesn’t feel the same way. About anyone.”

His face betrayed his frustration.

“Not about anyone at all. Boys or girls. It’s like he’s just not interested in anything at all. I don’t know what to call it.”

Hermione frowned. “That sounds like… “

“What?” his gaze was piercing, “what does it sound like Granger?”

“It’s a muggle thing.” She admitted.

He threw his hands out at his sides.

“I’ve looked all over magical creation for an answer and got squat for my effort. I might as well go with the muggle approach. Lay it on me woman.”

She bit her lip, opening her mental vault to the article she’d read while waiting in her parent’s offices one day.  
“The term is Asexuality or nonsexuality and it is the lack of sexual attraction to anyone, or low or absent interest in sexual activity. A recent study placed the prevalence of asexuality at 1% in the British population. Unlike sexual orientation which can be motivated but certain factors in a person’s life, asexuality is believed to be ‘enduring’. They are often called Ace, like a short form of Asexual.”

Goyle spent a long while just watching Crabbe’s chest rise and fall as he slept.

“So, Ace huh?”

She nodded. “Yeh”

“He took and deep breath and then another. “Okay”

“The research is still pretty new” she admitted, “Some asexuals engage in sexual activity despite lacking a desire for sex or sexual attraction, due to a variety of reasons, such as a desire to please romantic partners or a desire to have children.”

Goyle ran a weary hand down his face.

“There are other ways for two wizards to produce heirs and I’d rather not have him with me out of some kind of obligation. I’m a Slytherin yes but I don’t want my love life to be an arrangement, a convenience. I’ve seen enough of that with my parents. Hell, I’ve seen enough of that among most of the purebloods in Britain. I don’t want that to be my life.”

He looked sadly at the sleeping boy who’d stolen his heart that fine summer day and had never given it back.

“I’ll take what he can give me I guess. It’s always been the two of us. Crabbe and Goyle. Vince and Greg. Who knows, maybe we can make us both happy for once in our lives without 'Tradition' hanging over us.”

He took in the amazed look on her face and smirked.

“Didn’t think we were anything but Malfoy’s bloody bookends eh Granger?”

She huffed and threw her napkin at him, blushing as he laughed.

“Sod off, ye git”

The door slammed open, banging against the wall and making them jump. A robed man swept in, bringing such inherent magic with him that it was all she could do not to revisit the food she’d just eaten.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, “Why aren’t the witnesses separated? We need to get to the truth of what happened from each one individually, not give them time to come up with a pack of lies.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped and she swallowed hard.

She and Goyle shared a tremulous look.

The ministry was here.

And they were out for blood.

 

 

 

some Croyle feels. or was it Grabbe. i dunno. whatever  
i wanted to try this Ace perspective ever since i read a story with it.  
How the Magical world dealt with it. How the love might seem one sided.  
How would could they make it work together. oh, so excited. i hope i did it justice.  
feeling much better where i am now. The story has stopped kicking my ass  
and we've decided to try group therapy for our anger management issues.  
Our therapist says that we're making great strides in our progress.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

It was a Mexican stand-off.

At one end of the room she stood once again with Goyle over Crabbe’s unconscious form, the taller Slytherin growling under his breath at the newcomer.

At the other end of the room near the still open door, one Darius Broadmoor paced, shrugging off any attempts by the nurse to retreat from the Isolation suite or at least calm his magic. His dragonhide robes a deep red, the colour of arterial blood, swished at every sharp spin.

He was tall and intimidating with broad shoulders and swarthy good looks and wild dark hair. His face was tanned from long hours in the sun and he had a belt of pouches and potions slung across his waist. She could see a wand holster strapped to his right thigh and another peeking out from the cuff of his left hand. Ambidextrous maybe.

His Mediterranean good looks were marred by the angry frown that seemed permanently etched across his face. She’d seen him before, Broadmoor, a much younger version of him anyway in a back issue of the Daily Prophet she’s found at the Weasley’s one rainy summer's day.

He’d been one of Mad-Eye Moody’s first protogés at the DMLE during the first war with Voldemort and the only one of the seven of them still alive today. Already he had spouted Moody’s catch phrase at least three times while complaining loudly about procedure and suspect handling, not witness mind you, but suspect.

There was the cruel ruthlessness in his eyes that made her tiny spiders of fear crawl her insides and she swallowed her growing nausea. They would have to tread carefully now lest they end up in a Ministry cell by nightfall. What Voldemort had been up to that night had been the darkest of magics.

Being that close to the ritual was bound to leave traces of it in their magical cores. She would bet good money that if she walked into Dumbledore’s office right now, she would set most of his little silver knick knacks whirling.

Finally the nurse fled out through the doorway for assistance leaving them alone with the auror. Broadmoor stalked forward, his magic flaring over them like muddy water splashing up against their skin and beading off.

“I have a right mind to have you three sent to the lowest DMLE cells for this” he gave Hermione a withering look, “boy-who-lived’s best friend or no”

“Who knows what you’ve been scheming about in here for Merlin knows how long. For all we know it could have been the three of you responsible for that mess. I ought to arrest you all right now for all the dark magic pouring off you.”

He took a step towards Crabbe and Goyle growled loudly, his eyes burning with rage. She quickly grabbed unto his arm, stopping him from moving forward empty handed against an armed enemy.

And Broadmoor was certainly proving an enemy.

There was a sickening smile on his face as he slowly slipped his wand back into his cuff holster. The smug gleam in his eye made her heart race as she realized that he’d been trying to goad the Slytherin so that he could throw their collective asses to jail for attacking an officer of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The tightening of Goyle’s muscle under her hand told her that as the haze of anger had faded that he’d come to that conclusion too.

It was time for more action and less reaction.

Smoothing her hair back, she mentally pushed down the ill feeling his magic caused as it continued to pollute the ISO suite.

“Auror Broadmoor” she said calmly, drawing his attention away from the two Slytherins.  
“It is illegal in Great Britain for Law enforcement officers to interrogate underage witnesses without a parent or guardian present, and in the circumstance that said parent or guardian cannot accompany said witness or is in such a mental state that they cannot utilize sound judgment in the welfare of said underage witness or said witness is under the supervision of medical personnel such as we are here, then our primary physician can be called to act on behalf of our welfare, in Loco Parentis as it were, so that we are not mistreated or treated in such a way that would be detrimental to our overall health.”

Broadmoor had a look of constipation on his face by the end of her speech.

“I can still have you for holding in the ministry cells in two shakes of a dragon’s tail.” He sneered.  
“Dragon’s don’t shake their tails, they whip them.” she corrected reflexively. She rallied and went on. “You don’t have the grounds to arrest us.”

He folded his arms across his massive chest and looked down his nose at her.

“I can throw the fucking book at you little girl.”

He counted off his fingers.

“Misuse of Magical Artifacts, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, Use of Dark Magic, Use of Dark Magical Artifacts, Possession of Illegal Dark Artifacts, Breaking the Statute of Secrecy with that light show of yours, use of an Unforgivable, Trespassing on Private Property and Murder”

“Murder?” she cried aghast.

“Voldemort’s dead, you are alive. Who can say how it all went down?”

“Why You….” She was almost mute with anger. “How dare you…?”

“What’s going on here?” a voice from the doorway. Doctor Thompson.

The usually easy going blonde doctor was stern faced as he closed the door to the ISO unit. It wasn’t a complete relief seeing that Broadmoor was still outputting like a magical fucking furness but it did help.

“He’s says he wants to separate us and throw us into prison”

She was not above relying on adults to fight her battles for her. Being a kid had its advantages sometimes. Thompson faced the angry auror.

“My patients cannot be removed from this room, they have been diagnosed with Magical Over Exposure and being in this isolation suite is integral to their full recovery. Proximity to anything magical can be tortuous to them in these early stages. Your very presence in this room is tortuous to them. You sir, are essentially torturing three underage magical folk. I must insist that you to leave this room immediately.”

Broadmoor snarled, “I won’t be told what to do by some squib…”

“You Forget Yourself Auror” Thompson snapped, cutting him off.

“You may be an officer of the Law of Wizarding Britain but here at Santa Briguita’s Hospital, I am the Law and I will not have you endangering MY patients because you want to play who can swing the bigger dick.”

He held the door open fully and raised an eyebrow at the bristling officer.

“I can have them in for dark magic saturation and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Hermione spoke up before Thompson could reply.

“The case of Waffling v. Misselthorpe ruled that any witch or wizard determined to be saturated with black magic or grey magic as a result of being a witness, voluntary or involuntary to the cause of such saturation cannot be held imprisoned until summarily proven that said saturation was a direct result of the willful actions of said witch or Wizard.”

“That fucking case is over five hundred years old” Broadmoor bogled.

“It’s still valid in the magical Law today, in fact, just ten years ago the ICW ruled in favour of a Witch in Glastonbury because of it.” she rejoined, almost cheekily.

He tossed one last snarl at them all and swept out of the room, taking his miasma of magic with him in a flurry like petticoats.

Then the door slammed closed and blessed silence reigned.

“Well…” The blonde Healer, no Doctor shook his head, blonde curls bouncing. “That was unpleasant”

Hermione’s knees trembled and she dropped into the chair behind her with a shaky breath. She turned her shining eyes to the physician.

“I am so crushing on you right now Doc” she gushed, grinning at the pretty blush that bloomed across his cheeks.

That broke the tension in the room and Goyle collapsed next to Crabbe with a breathy “Fuck me”.

“I thought it was brill.” came a voice from the pillows. Crabbe cracked open an eye from where he lay with a grin. “You can be my solicitor any day Granger, pulling that bullshite from your arse like that.”

“I’ll have you know that everything I said to that man was the truth my good man” she purred primly. “and you probably couldn’t afford me anyway.”

That set them all laughing and she slumped back into the chair as the doctor started checking them over for evidence of magical stress.

This was not the end of it, she knew that for certain. The ministry of magic was outside that door and they wanted what only the three of them had. Knowledge of what really happened to Riddle that night.

Round one was theirs. Round two was just beginning.

\-----------------------------------------

The compromise was something out of Law & Order. Cameras were set up in the common room and Hermione’s room with the boys being interviewed together as Goyle was refusing to leave Crabbe’s side and the fact that Crabbe had been severely wounded for most of the action anyway.

Hermione sat on the bed, pulling her feet under and tucking her hair behind her ears. She still had to ask the nurses about what they’d used on her so that she could buy a life time supply.  
She’d splashed water on her face and slumped her shoulders, making herself small in the middle of the big bed to look as harmless as possible. First impressions were key in situations like these. She may not have been as cunning as a Slytherin but she was not blind to how the Wizarding world worked.

The fiasco with Harry almost getting this wand snapped for defending Dudley from the Dementors had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her interviewer was an older brunette squib gentleman, middle aged but still youthful and jovial, easy with a smile and good natured. He’d probably been chosen to make her feel relaxed after Broadmoor’s bull in a china shop routine. He reminded her of her own father in some ways.  
Someone out there had been doing their homework.

His name was Officer Hart, well, he rather she called him Hart. He sheepishly admitted his full name Pollux Fillius Bruunhart and endured some good natured ribbing.

They chatted amiably for a few minutes while they felt each other out. He thought that he was making her comfortable with him, enough to talk freely and she let him think that, ever aware that everything she said and did was being recorded and streamed to a separate room via the camera.

Soon he geared the subject towards the last few days.

It had been the weekend before Halloween and half of Hogwarts was out in Hogsmeade, buying obscene amounts of candy and seasonal treats. She and Ron had dragged Harry along, trying to cheer him up from the funk he’d been in lately.

He’d been extremely jumpy and paranoid of late, always slipping out with his cloak and map, coming back in just before dawn looking haggard and worn. Her words and gestures of comfort seemed to flow off his back as he spouted more and more far fetched theories about Malfoy and his cronies. He knew in his heart of hearts that they were up to something.

Hermione could only sigh. Of course they were up to something. Slytherins were always up to something. It was just that she thought that ever since Malfoys Dad had been set free from prison -on a technicality no less- *insert scoff here*, that the level of the something they were up to was just about as high as the machinations of the average house cat.

Ron was being an utter wazzock about it, enabling Harry in his paranoia, bad mouthing the Slytherins at every turn until Harry was so twisted around that he didn’t know which way was up anymore. Sometimes she just wanted to thump his big stupid carrot head against the castle walls and throw him to Aragog in the Forbidden Forest.

Ugh. Boys.

Even in Hogmeade Harry couldn’t just let it go. He spotted Malfoy’s Gel Helmet at a hundred paces and they’d spent the next forty minutes trailing him and his ever present bookends from store to store.

Finally the three had ducked into Alberforth Dumbledore’s pub and Harry and Ron rushed in behind them just in time to see the tail end of a cloak as their quarry escaped through the back.

They’d been made.

She’d just had enough time to yelp a ‘pardon’ at the old barkeep as she raced out after Harry and Ron. The boys of the snake house led them on a merry chase that day, twisting and turning through the outlying buildings of Hogsmeade.

Soon enough Ron had caught up with the trio and jumped to tackle the Malfoy scion, only succeeding in pushing him into a nearby rubbish heap and tripping up everyone else to that they all fell in a tumble of limbs. Before she could complain about the elbow in her back, a large net dropped down on them all.

The last thing she saw before feeling that familiar hook behind her navel was Malfoy’s shocked face, an old orange peel stuck to his slicked back hair.

She landed with an oof and the elbow dug deeper into her back. The pained cry startled her and she looked over to see Harry clutching at his bleeding curse scar. Dark laughter and hissing filled the air and her heart sank.

“What happened then?” Hart’s voice brought her back to the present.

She shrugged. “it happened really fast, Voldemort postured, Harry gave him lip I somehow managed to banished the net towards Ron and harry, hoping that it would take them back to Hogsmeade. That’s what happened to harry with the Tri-Wizard Cup anyway. Most portkey incantations have that built in failsafe ever since the ministry had to spend millions in transportation costs and hospital bills for all the failed ones. “

He tilted his head to the side. “How come you didn’t get hold of the portkey?”

This time it her turn to blush hot crimson. She mumbled under her breath.

“I tripped.” She flushed and repeated at his raised eyebrow, “I tripped and fell like the bimbo in every other horror movie I’ve ever seen. It was so embarrassing. “

They shared a laugh.

He flinched slightly and asked, “And the boys? Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle? what were they doing?

She realized with a start that he was most likely asking the questions being relayed to him though some kind of device. A muggle ear piece of some kind.

The way he kept flinching before each question and casting pained glances toward the camera meant that whoever was talking loudly at the mic at the other end was probably unfamiliar with muggle tech as Ron had been with the Fellytone.

And who was the one magical Auror she’d met who expressed interest in cracking open her brain and scoping out the knowledge inside? Who else. Broadmoor of course.

Another flinch. “The Boys? Hermione?”

She bit her lip. “They seemed as frightened as I was. I mean, who knows who set that portkey in Hogsmeade, waiting to fall on innocent Hogwarts students.”

Flinch “So you’re saying that those boys didn’t set the trap themselves?”

“How could they, we were following them almost constantly the whole time they were in Hogmeade. They really didn’t have the time to set it up before hand, and I know for a fact that they couldn’t set up that net, incant it to be a portkey and rig it so that it would fall on us as we sprinted randomly though the streets.”

Flinch “So you are defending them then?”

“Not so much as being logical about it. The time constraints as we know them don’t allow for what you’re insinuating.”

Hart actually cringed as Broadmoor gave him an earful for that and she pretended to cough behind her hand to cover a tiny smirk.

Hart frowned and looked towards the camera. Something was up. He shook his head and flinched again. With a solemn face he spoke.

“How would you feel if I told you that the very boys you’re protecting are the reason that Harry Potter is in a coma this very moment?”

Ice dread washed over Hermione with tsunami force.

“What?” she hissed. “What happened to Harry?”

“Answer the question Hermione.”

“Don’t you ‘Hermione’ me. What Happened To Harry? What is this about this Coma business? Is he all right? Tell me what happened.”

“Calm Down Ms. Granger” He tried to sooth her as she climbed off the bed. “You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours”

“This isn’t quid pro quo Officer Bruunhart and you are no Clarice.”

She scoffed and stomped into the common area where another squib officer was interviewing Crabbe and Goyle with Thompson hovering, keeping a hawk eye on Crabbe’s health.

“Someone will tell me what happened to Harry Potter RIGHT NOW or I swear to Merlin that I will take what I saw of Voldemort’s demise to my very grave.”

She looked at the shocked squib officers as Hart tilted his head one last time. Slowly he shook his head to the negative.

Fire burned along her veins and at that moment she knew hatred.

“BROADMOOR” she screamed, looking directly at the camera, knowing he was watching and wishing he was here so that she could punch his stupid face.

She glared fire and brimstone into the lens and spoke with deathly calm.

“petaQ”

The guttural roll of words harsh against her tongue and throat.

“Hab SoSlI' Quch!”

And turned her back to them all.

 

 

 

 

AHAHAHAHAHA! Klingon fuck yeah.  
Translation:  
petaQ pronouced p'takh- insult with different meanings for a person.  
like "that traitorous petaQ" or "you worthless petaQ"  
“Hab SoSlI' Quch!” - Your mother has a smooth forehead.  
I have read that this is very foul language only used for the most reviled of enemies.  
also, turning your back on you foe shows them that they are too beneath you to be of any notable threat.  
for Thompson and Merrygold, think of Bilbo and Thorin from the Hobbit Movie.  
3000 fucking words. O.O


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Silent Treatment

noun

an act or instance of maintaining silence or aloofness toward another

person, especially as a means of indicating disapproval or rejection.

 

Forty seven hours.

She leaned her forehead against the cool window pane and drew a Fibonacci golden spiral in the condensation. From the minute she’d uttered those last words to Broadmoor through the camera, the sky had opened up and wept. And had not stopped since.

She watched with a sense of detachment as one of the nurses scurried across the parking lot, pelted from all side from the harsh wind and stinging torrential rain.

Everything in her world seemed detached, distant. Ever since she’d laid her ultimatum at Broadmoor’s feet and refused to utter one syllable unless someone told her how Harry was, truly.

She’d barely heard as Broadmoor ranted and raved outside their door, threatening her with everything he could think of from wand snapping to time in Azkaban. Barely registered Crabbe and Goyle as they passed the time, chatting or playing board games or cards or fascinated by muggle televison. They always seemed to sit near her or let her have her peace when she somehow wound up sitting near them.

The doctors hovered and tittered when her appetite suffered, or when her sleep cycle fell off its rails. Even the nurses who had washed her hair tried to draw her out by giving her a bottle of the ‘hair crack’ she’d been asking about.

But no one said the words she wanted to hear. So she stayed silent.

Forty seven hours.

Forty seven hours since she’d found out that her best friend had been in a coma.

A Coma. From the Greek κῶμα koma, meaning "deep sleep. In which a person: cannot be awakened; fails to respond normally to painful stimuli, light, or sound and lasts more than six hours.

Her Harry.

She cried herself to sleep more often than not, the state of ‘not knowing’ was tearing her apart. Nightmares of him trapped in darkness, alone and cold like she believed his childhood had been like.

With Harry sometimes it was what he didn’t say that spoke volumes. She’d already been looking up child neglect, its symptoms and treatments in her second year at Hogwarts.

The gut wrenching guilt that her silence was in some way hurting him was almost too much to bear at times. Just when she was about to throw in the towel and blurt out everything they wanted to know, she would pull herself back.

That information was the only leverage she had. Her only card in this game. If she gave it up now, she was guaranteed nothing in return. The three of them could be thrown into the nearest deep dark hole like yesterday’s rubbish and she might never see her friends or family again.  
Crabbe and Goyle would see time in Azkaban for sure, If just to set an example for the rest of Riddle’s followers who had yet to be marked.

Children of Death Eaters, dark sympathizers, bribed officials. They were all still out there. There was a power vacuum happening in the Wizarding Britian right now that the sudden deaths of a lot of old family, pure bloods traditionalists and others of the hoi polloi had left in their wake.  
She had to play this right. She just had to.

Crabbe cleared his throat, pulling her musings away from the window.

Officer Bruunhart was standing in the room with Doctor Merrygold. She hadn’t even noticed the door opening and closing this time. Her magical core was growing stronger despite her inner turmoil.

Hart was holding his hat in his hands, wringing it nervously. Merrygold elbowed him in the side.  
“Out with it man, quick like a band aid now.” He huffed at the officer

Hart fidgeted.

“Ms. Granger, looks like you’ll be getting your answers after all”

she let out a long harsh breath at the words. as close to speech as she come in days.

Hart squeezed that cap tightly in his hands, his knuckles white from the pressure. Hermione studied him intently, snapping up and analyzing his every move and facial expression. Warning bells clanged against each other in her chest. She braced herself.

“You’ve all been summoned before the Wizengamot.”

Goyle choked on a breath “What? When? All of Us?”

Hart nodded, swallowing hard. Her hands gripped at her thighs trying to ease the sudden tension as Hart said solemnly.

“They’re waiting for you right now”

 

 

 

just a bit of a teaser today. i'm feeling kinda sick so i'm going to head to bed and tackle the epic scene i have in mind tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: ANGST, i have to warn for this.

Chapter Six

 

Armed with a hastily borrowed robe, a recovering magical core and her wits, Hermione waded into the mire that was left of Wizengamot after the fall of Voldemort.

They were holding court in Santa Briguita’s main conference room and most of the twenty or so witches and wizards of Britain’s Ruling Magical Council looked pained and even disgusted to have even set a pompous magical foot in a ‘common’ squib facility.

The open disgust at the glass and steel marvel that was the conference room was rivaled only by the way they danced around the rolling chairs and sleek tables like skittish cats in a room full of rocking chairs.

Fudge was there sadly, she’d thought for sure that he would have been among the fallen. It seemed that money had been enough to keep him in Riddles back pocket all this time.

The fact that over half of the WG were dead was frankly terrifying. The fact that Voldemort could have easily reached out and plucked the Ministry like some ripe fruit unnerved Hermione greatly. To think that Riddle’s thirst for the ‘power he knew not’ kept him from wielding the power he already had.

As she slumped into a seat between the two slytherins, ran her gaze quickly over the crowd. Fudge was there flustered and puffed with agitation, a pale Percy Weasley hanging on to his coat tails as per the norm. Amelia Bones chatted with Scrimgeour and Elphias Dodge. Broadmoor, the birk, was glowering at her from his place in the corner with another Auror and a disillusioned unspeakable.

She could see the distortions in the space next to the large pane glass windows, the daylight falling wrongly around the magical barrier. Her eyes swept over Dumbledore as he stood talk intently to Fudge. 

As Chief Warlock, his presence would have normally granted her a sense of relief but the fact that he had not once deigned to look at her since she’d arrived gave her reason to pause. She didn’t dare look him in the eye after what Harry had told her about his Legilimency. The last thing she wanted was for him to pluck the knowledge from her head.

She tapped out Rachmaninoff’s Pianoconcerto no.2 op.18 against her thighs, tapping her heel nervously as they postured and cajoled, bribed and threatened her to speak. Everything from saccharine words of praise to blistering threats of veritaserum and Azkaban. It all seemed a blur.

All she knew was that Crabbe and Goyle were beside her, protecting her flank and the good doctors had her back, shooting down with sniper’s precision, any talk of magical persuasion.

Finally Dumbledore addressed her directly, an upheld hand cutting off Fudge’s latest threat, to her parents no less. Luckily they were safe in Africa, her parents having signed up for the Doctors Without Borders for the next two years. She’d been planning to spend the winter hols volunteering as a clinic with them.

“Dear Child, I know what you must be feeling, how could you possibly seek to answer our questions when you must be worried sick about Harry. “

He was the picture of beloved grandfather, ready with a sweet and pat on the head.

“Please do forgive us for wanting information that could be vital to our eternal war against the evil of the dark lord. A war in which I’m afraid Harry is irreversibly ensnared.

We must confirm that Riddle is in fact dead. If it were to be proven that he is in fact alive in some shape or form, this delay could make the difference between life and utter destruction for many innocent families. That the deaths of magical men, women and children, pureblood and muggleborn alike could be so easily preveted. ”

That… that bastard. She fumed, her eyes burning like lasers into the table top before clasped hands. Sitting there like butter wouldn’t melt in his fucking mouth. Trying to lay a guilt trip on her worthy of any Jewish mother. Nice try asshole. I grew up under Emmaline Janice Granger, queen of making one feel guilty with just a look and a downturn of the lip. This was child’s play compared.

Dumbledore gave a put upon sigh and nodded to one of the Aurors.

There were sounds of shuffling behind her and she had to grip the arks of the chair so as not to jump out of her seat. Crabbe’s large warm hand covered hers and he leaned in close.

“Steady there Granger” he muttered under his breath.

She took a couple of deep breaths and calmed, lounging in the chair the way she’d seen Malfoy do a million times, holding court of the snake house in the great hall. She schooled her face into that same detached disdain and inbred superiority she called Draco’s Resting Bitch Face and waited for whatever came next.

The subtle tightening of Crabbe’s hand on hers was her only warning as a pale and wobbly Harry Potter was led into the room by Molly Weasley, Ron trailing behind them with a severe frown.  
Her heart leapt into her throat. He was alive, Oh Merlin he was here.

“Harry” she cried, leaping from the chair.

Gentle hands held her shoulders, pushing her back into the chair. If she had been more aware she would have seen the Aurors being waved to stand down. She would have noticed Crabbe and Goyle slowly taking their seats once again, their eyes glaring daggers at the trigger happy aurors. The doctors both gripping the back of her chair with one hand each as if choosing a side.

But she saw none of this. All she could see was Harry.

Harry her best friend, who showed such courage such life in the face of endless danger. Harry who had fought a troll for her, who had trusted her with the search for the philosopher’s stone and the search for the heir of Slytherin.

Harry who had not made fun of her after the polyjuice fuck up and had fought a basilisk to help save her and other muggle borns, who had trusted her and her time turner with Sirius’s life and who she’d stood by all through the fourth year from hell.

That boy who faced death itself with such grace and aplomb that grown men and women could never achieve. Her best friend and soul brother. That boy who lived, no not just lived. Survived. Thrived.

That boy who was now staring around the room as if he didn’t know where he was. His once vibrant green eyes dull and unfocused. Who looked right at her as if he didn’t even know her at all.

Oh god, what fresh hell was this?

What had Riddle done?

What had she done?

 

 

THIS is what you get when you listen to phantom of the opera while writing.  
*hits me right in the feels*


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The world had tipped and shattered like a glass accidentally knocked off a table. A soul deep chill both numbed and burned her as Dumbledore explained Harry’s condition, his voice the only one registering in her mind. She felt hollowed out the facts or knowledge she usually found solace or strength in slipped from her completely.

Her eyes raked over the huddled form of her soul brother, the gaping maw that was her mind devouring every detail, every twitch when someone spoke too loud, the way his eyes would cast about the room every few seconds, confused and scared and so utterly hopeless and lost.

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. All she wanted to do was scream and scream forever, shattering the brittle cobweb that had hardened across her mindscape.

She rubbed the back of her hands across her tear stained cheeks and forced her mind to process what the headmaster was saying.

Harry and Ron had returned to Hogsmeade via portkey and had reported her missing. Malfoy had also gone missing and the search had begun. Hours later Harry stumbled into Pomphrey’s Domain, Ron all but holding him upright.

Before she could even perform a diagnostic charm he had doubled over, letting out a blood curdling scream and collapsed, refusing to wake up or respond to any medical treatment. He had been rushed to St. Mungo’s with Ron at his side but nothing helped.

Soon after that Voldemort had been dragged to hell by magic herself and had cut Wizarding Britain off at the knees. Pandemonium reigned in the streets as witches and wizards began to drop dead everywhere, letting off bursts of magic that set off all of the ministry’s secrecy and security wards at once.

And while the Ministry spread itself thin trying to contain the chaos, Ron and Mrs. Weasley were the only ones to witness as Harry screamed himself hoarse and bled profusely at his curse scar. They were soon pushed out of the room by healers and could do nothing but wait.

When harry did eventually wake, it was discovered that most of his magical core was diminished. It seemed that his connection to Voldemort had integrated itself into his magical core since the night of his parent’s death. The merging had been so slow and subtle that it had never been discovered. And when Riddle died, he had yanked at the connection, dragging it with him as he went and with it, most of Harry’s magic.

Hermione pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, shoving down the panic that lodged in her throat, blocking her airway. She wanted to curl up in a corner and weep or just surrender to sleep but she knew that there was no time for that now. Harry needed her now. She could break later.

“What happens to him now?” she addressed the headmaster, “You’ll get him the treatment he needs right? To help him recover his core?”

”I’ sorry dear girl but I’m afraid there’s no help for him this time, all the healers have agreed.   
Harry’s core won’t be able to recover from this. He will remain at this level for the rest of his life. He is essentially a squib now. It would be too hurtful to let him stay in the wizarding world, knowing what he has lost.”

She gaped in disbelief, “so that’s it? Thanks a lot Boy and don’t trip on the way out? Tell me you not going to just toss him back to the Dursley’s? At least tell me that.”

Several Wizengamot members shifted in their seats.

“You were, weren’t you?” she whispered in shock.

She turned to a frowning Mrs. Weasley. “You can’t let them to do that, you know how they treat him. He’ll die there, you know that, they’ll kill him. You have to do something.”

Molly’s face was pinched and pale as she kept her silence. Ron on the other hand had a lot to say.  
“Let the buggers have him I say” he sneered. “if it weren’t for Potter Ginny would still be alive.”

Hermione sat back in the seat, shocked. “Ginny’s dead, what… how?”

Ron’s face got the same blotchy red id did when he was really upset.

“While we were at St. Mungo’s keeping vigil over this wanker, Ginny killed herself, threw herself off the astronomy tower. It seemed that all these years she’d still had a bit of Tom left in her.   
Still loved him and everything. She felt his death and decided she couldn’t live without him. She left a note and everything. With everything going on with Potter and Snape all but carking it in the great hall, we didn’t even realize she was missing until the day after.”

His fists were clenched in his stupid maroon jumper with the capital R, angry tears burning down his cheeks. His voice breaking as he snarled.

“A whole day my baby sister lay on the ground outside like a broken toy. If I’d been there instead of with Potter I could have saved her, she would still be alive. Good Riddance I say, Potter’s brought trouble with him everywhere he went.”

“oh Ron, I’m so sorry” she breathed, “I thought she was getting better, I mean with her therapy?”  
Molly scoffed. “we put a stop to that muggle Mumbo Jumbo a long time ago. Besides, we couldn’t afford it” she harrumphed.

“You told me she was making progress?” Percy blurted, looking absolutely devastated. “I could have gotten her in to see the Ministry Sponsored counselor. You should have told me that money was a problem, I would have helped.”

“She didn’t need it” Molly denied, “She was getting better on her own. She didn’t need this … this… head-shrinking.”

She said the muggle term as if it was dirty.

Percy braced himself against the table, aghast.

“Tom Riddle all but raped her in almost every way. She was just a eleven year old girl when it happend Mum. She needed a mind Healer. How could you not see that? My baby sister is dead now because of our damned Weasley pride. Oh God… oh God”

It was only Amelia Bones’ quick wand work that summoned a nearby bin in time for the middle Weasley child to throw up everything he’d eaten that day. Since he’d been living off coffee and the occasional stale office pastry since Riddle’s fall, he was soon dry heaving.

A quick mouth freshening charm and banishment spell for the bin saw him back in his seat, paler than before but holding himself together. An Auror handed him a muggle bottle of water and he murmured thanks

She gave him a look of condolence and he nodded minutely in return.

“Ok, I’ll tell you everything,” she said, “On one condition”

Fudge Blustered “Now see here little girl, we’ve been very patient so far…”

”And I thank you for your patience Minister… “ she cut him off neatly. “… but before place myself at the mercy of this good assembly I must do right by those to which I am indebted.”

She slowly got up from her chair, nodding to Crabbe and Goyle and made her way to where Harry sat, coming to her knees before him.

She placed both hands on his cheeks gently and waited until his eyes tracked to hers. She felt tears burn her eyes again and as recognition bloomed deep within the emerald depths.  
“mione?” his voice was tiny and it cleaved her heart in two. She gave him a watery smile.

“Yes, Harry, it’s me… it’s ‘mione.” She sobbed.

He brushed his fingertips over her wet cheeks and gave a little whine.

“I need you to do something for me HarBear. I need you to try your very best to get better. These people are going to help you so I need you to try ok? Try for me… for ‘mione.”

She looked to Thompson and Merrygold and gulped as they nodded. She then looked to the council. Before Fudge or Dumbledore could speak Percy answered for them.  
“It will be done.”

“ So mote it be” Madame Bones seconded and other members nodded and repeated the pledge.  
She silently mouthed a thank you to Percy and he smiled in return. They’d lost too many already to let another slip away.

She turned back to Harry and smiled again. Once again he whispered her name then the recognition died and his eyes glazed over and dulled once more. He was gone again.  
She gently kissed his healed curse scar and then pressed their foreheads together.

“Good bye my Harry. I love you very much. Be safe.”

She remained on her knees for the next few minutes as Doctor Merrygold gently led the only boy she’d ever loved and trusted completely out of the room, followed by an upset Molly and scowling Ron.

“Goodbye Ronald” she called but was ignored.

With a deep sigh she returned to her seat where Goyle offered her a hankerchief to wipe her face.

She faced the council and spoke solemnly.

“I want it to be noted that Mssrs. Crabbe and Goyle were not voluntary participants in Riddle’s plans and as such I ask for leniency on their behalf because they were integral in the Dark Lord’s demise that night.”

Dumbledore nodded but said nothing.

And so she began to talk.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

 

The trap in Hogsmeade had not been intentionally set for them specifically. Riddle just wanted an innocent for the ritual and nabbing a student from right under Dumbledore’s nose during the Halloween rush tickled him.

The fact that he had netted the Golden Trio was a very appreciated bonus and he was livid when her quick thinking lost him Harry and Ron. He then forced them to assist him in setting up the ritual, mixing the potions and pouring runes of sand in the ritual circle. Amidst evil posturing and ramdom crucios of course.

Soon he was ready and needed a virgin sacrifice but since he wanted to keep her around to send to Harry in pieces before he killed him, his next choice was the asexual Crabbe who remained the only Slytherin boy still a virgin.

Shortly he had Crabbe pinned to the altar, the ceremonial dagger flashing in fire light, Crabbe’s tortured screams forced Goyle’s hand and he tried to rush the Dark Lord and almost got choked to death for his effort.

She’d lain on the stone ground, still shaking from the latest crucio, watching helplessly as Voldemort attempted to murder the children of some of his most loyal servants.

She pushed herself to her feet and crept up behind him and he tossed Goyle aside and started the incantations. She had to put a stop to this somehow.

“What could you do? He’d taken your wand?” Amelia Bones leaned forward intently.

“Rule Number Nine” Hermione smirked. “Always carry a knife”

Thompson chuffed a laugh behind her. Looked like she’d found another NCIS Fan. The wizards on the other hand, looked on, confused.

After the end of fourth year with the death of Cedric Diggory and the return of Voldemort, her father had shakily pressed the small knife into her hand before hugging the stuffing out of her. She’d kept it on her person since then, a small pouch stitched into her belt.

While Voldemort was in the middle of the fifth incantation of the ritual and the air was saturated with heavy natural magic, she’d swung the blade with all her might, straight into his ear canal and into his brain.

Riddle froze and spun to her, a mixture of shock and rage on his face. She stumbled back as he stepped toward her, killing magic gathering at the tip of his black wand. In that unholy green light she saw her death for sure.

But the spell never passed his lips as the magic he’d been gathering through the ritual flailed out of its bindings, extremely unhappy with what he’d been twisting into.

After that it had been pretty much a fight for survival for the three teens after that as magic had consumed the magic of the dark lord and all those linked to him, finally settling down and leaving devastation in its wake.

Then the Aurors had arrived and they knew the rest from there.

Dumbledore pressed her for details of the ritual but she had to admit that Riddle had kept the book with the ritual close to him at all times, never explaining or letting her see the whole thing.  
The questions went on like this for hours, with Hermione going over detail after detail again and again until her voice got hoarse. Crabbe and Goyle had taken turns dozing, the procedure taking a toll on them as well.

Finally Doctor Thompson checked her pallor and the clamminess of her skin and had declared the session over for the day. Fudge started to fuss but Dumbledore nodded acquiescence.

She was only able to shrug off the robe before collapsing unto the bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow. Worries could wait until tomorrow.

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

She was roused out a deep stupor what seemed like minutes later to a smirking Broadmoor.

“Verdict’s in, bitch” he sneered. “It’s the kiss for you all.”

The bottom dropped out of her world.

Of course she’d expected something like this. Time in Azkaban maybe nut not the Dementor’s Kiss.

The ministry was holding on to power with tenuous grasp. They needed someone to shift the blame too for the peace of mind of the public and the International community.

She knew that in exchange for Harry’s well being and care she would trade her own. She had hoped that Crabbe and Goyle could have been spared too. That she would be enough of a fall guy but it was not to be.

The gallows had always looked better when three swung instead of one. No one would accept that a member of the Golden Trio would do this unless she’d been corrupted by two dastardly snakes.

She stumbled out into the common room where a solemn Crabbe and Goyle stood with a clearly upset Doctor Thompson. She hugged the blonde doctor briefly as he promised to take care of Harry once again.

She turned to the slytherins and nodded. They tipped their heads in confirmation. This was it. The end game. All of her emotions seemed to have fled, leaving her calm.

The procession out of the hospital was silent. She could feel Broadmoor glaring at her back the entire way. Maybe he was expecting wailing and cries for mercy but she would never grant him that.

They climbed into the waiting Ministry car and lifted off without ceremony, turning to London and to their fate.

Once again she sat to the left of Goyle, Crabbe at his right. She took the taller boys hand, entwining her finders with his. She needed this last bit of human touch if she was to face what was coming. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then pressed a longer one to Crabbe’s surprised lips.

She chuckled at his muffled squeak and looked out of the window to at the passing treetops. The distant sky was beginning to lighten with the dawn and she drank in its beauty, running calculations on the speed of the earth’s orbit compared to its rotation.

Tears stung her eyes as she watched the sun burst along the horizon for what could be the last time as she listened to Goyle softly murmur his affections to Crabbe.

Her heart twisted at never seeing Harry again but he knew he would be fine, Thompson would help him recover and life a good life, even as a squib. Percy would see to it she was sure.

She thought of her parents, helping others in Africa and whispered all of her love unto the wind, letting magic take the message to them across the oceans where she could not go.

A pained grimace startled her and she spun just in time to see Broadmoor slump in his seat unconscious. Alarm spread through her as the ministry car quickly descended and came in for a landing at a small airfield.

She exchanged alarmed looks with Crabbe and Goyle.

Just then the door opened and a familiar voice drifted into the cab.

“Well, aren’t you sods going to get out of there or not? Where’s your gryffindork courage Granger?”

“Holy fuck Draco” Crabbe blurted and they tumbled out of the car to land at Malfoy’s feet.

The Malfoy Scion stood upon the tarmac, immaculate in a muggle grey tweed bespoke suit that brought out the colour of his eyes. Behind him a small private plane stood ready to depart.

“What is this?”she asked.

“Just a mo…” he held up a hand, pulling out his wand and nodding to the ministry driver.  
“Consider your debt to the Malfoys paid in full.”

The driver nodded and got back in the car where Malfoy cast a quick obliviate and a stunning charm for plausible deniabilty. He then proceeded to cast a deep sleep charm on Braodmoor.

“We could have an accident to him you know… if you wanted.” Crabbe suggested.

Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Hermione thought for a minute then shook her head.

“As much as I’d punt to punt him from the plane at thirty thousand feet, Wizarding Britain needs men like him right now. He can live.”

“Too bad” Goyle grumbled, grasping Crabbe’s hand once more.

A pale eyebrow raised again and Malfoy smirked.

“About damn time. I’ve watched this one mope for five bloody years.”

Crabbe gaped “That was true?” he blushed at Goyle who kissed his knuckles. A look of concertation crossed his face.

“I’m not sure I can…”

Goyle cut him off “Don’t worry about that. I won’t push. Granger knows all about what’s going in on with you. She’ll tell us all about it.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to her and she shrugged.

“They don’t call me a know-it-all for nothing you know.”

\-------------------------------------------------

Within minutes they were settled into the plush leather seats of the plane as it taxied down the runway.

It seemed that Malfoy had immediately flooed to Malfoy Mansion the moment they’d all disappeared under the portkey, intent of asking his father to intercede for Crabbe and Goyle, and also because he knew that he would be the first suspect when news that the Golden Trio had been taken via portkey with two of his known associates.

What he received was a painful curse and being tossed into a cupboard as he’d appeared in the middle of a very important death eater meeting.

He’d lost track of time after that, in and out of consciousness until the slam of his ancestral magic tore him into wakefulness. His parents were dead. All the wards that had been anchored to Lucius were now his to bear. He was now Lord Malfoy, Peer of the Realm.

“I have to thank you Granger” he smiled, “for getting rid of the dark tosser for us all, not that that lot back there will ever appreciate it the way they talk about you.”

He shown them the headlines, Boy Who Lived’s Jilted Ex Lover Plots To Steal His Glory, Lion And Snake Love Triangle Conquers Dark Magic and her favourite, Hell Hath No Fury Like A Muggle Born Scorned.

“The Ministry’s collapsing” Malfoy confessed, “the Old Families are leaving in droves, I’m going to France myself. I have family there. the Malfoys came from there and its where we can start again.”

He sighed “It may take years for Wizarding Britian to get back on solid ground. It’ll get worse before better here though The International community is none too happy about how things are being handled. Especially with you three. Outside of England they see things a lot differently. There’s been petitions to grant you three sanctuary from over twenty magical communities already.”

He hesitated, “I sorry you know... about Scar- uh, Potter,”

She searched his face for malice and nodded mutely when she found none.

She let their conversation wash over her as she looked out of the window. The sun was just cresting through the clouds, painting them the colour of jeweled fire, that last time she’d seen such beautiful brilliance had been that fateful night.

So much had changed for her since then. She had changed so much since then. She lost so much and gained so much that it left her dizzy from the speed.

Crabbe and Goyle were talking about going to America and Malfoy was promising them all new papers and use of the jet to go wherever they wanted.

Well, she was looking forward to seeing Africa, and she knew of a little clinic there where two dentists without borders could use a volunteer assistant.

As she drifted off to sleep she pondered if the Côte-d'Ivoire Accademy De L'unité Magique would take on a fifth year witch without transcripts and if the makeup of certain spells differed when cast in French than in English.

Well, she could always look it up.

 

 

 

woot! 13,000+ words. Second rough trade completion notch in my belt. hell yeah.  
now i can spend my vacation reading everyone else's stuff

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Sire and Land, Thy Sons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585425) by [quicksylver28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksylver28/pseuds/quicksylver28)




End file.
